Aftershocks
by leyapearl
Summary: What if Jeffrey chose to quit being a Voyager? What would happen to him?  To Bogg?  AU sequel to Green Means Go.  Limited history, darker tone.
1. Leaving

**The memories are gone/ The aftershocks live on/ But with nothing to remember/ Is there nothing left to grieve?** – Lines from the Tony and Pulitzer prize winning musical _Next to Normal._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_"Bogg, I don't think I can do this anymore."_

_"Okay," Bogg said slowly. "If you don't think you can handle being a Voyager right now you have two options." Bogg's voice was firm but compassionate. He waited to be sure he had Jeff's full attention before continuing. "I can bring you some place, some time zone, that's safe and leave you until you're older and ready for the academy. Or, you could change your mind. You could decide you don't want to be a Voyager."_

_"What would happen then?" Jeff asked, puzzled by the finality in Bogg's tone._

_The answer was blunt. "Your memory would get wiped," Bogg said. Jeff was stunned. "You were eleven when you left 1982, so they'd probably arrange it to look like you were kidnapped or something to explain why you've been gone so long. Maybe stage some kind of accident to account for the gap in your memory. Then they would find your Aunt Elizabeth and send you back to her." _

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The faint clicking sound of heeled shoes on marble floors echoing in the hall alerted Phineas Bogg that Susan was returning to her office. He stood and expelled the breath he was only now aware he had been holding. "Is it done?" he asked as she pushed the door open. His voice was raw with emotion. Susan nodded and bowed her head, her long blonde hair shielding most of her face but not managing to hide the tears in her eyes. Bogg tightened his jaw. "Can I see him?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"He's already gone," Susan whispered, sorrow in her voice. She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her fellow Voyager. "Phineas, I can't... I'm so sorry." Her shoulders started to shake, and Bogg could feel the tears falling from her eyes onto his shirt. Mechanically, he put his arms around her and patted her shoulder. "I can't believe he chose this," she sobbed.

"I know," he said bleakly. It felt like someone had disconnected the world from reality and then put it back together with all the pieces slightly askew. _"He's already gone." _ Strange how those three small words changed everything. As Bogg tried to comfort Susan, his eyes fell on the new, updated guidebook sitting on Susan's desk among her papers, his name embossed on the cover. He hadn't yet touched it, hoping beyond hope that if he didn't – if he just left it be – Jeff would change his mind. Claiming the guidebook meant accepting Jeffrey wouldn't be traveling with him anymore, that his kid wasn't coming back.

Bogg disengaged himself from Susan's arms and took a shaky breath. "Susan," he said, his voice breaking. "I think I need a few minutes alone. Do you mind?"

"Of course," she replied, understanding filling her voice. She hastily wiped her eyes. "Councilor Garth wanted to be informed once the procedure was done." She moved to the door, graceful even in her grief. She turned back to him, eyes red-rimmed. "Phineas, he wants to talk with you. He asked me to tell you not to leave."

Bogg nodded automatically, his eyes distant, not really listening. Headquarters was too quiet. He needed to get away from the offices and classrooms as soon as possible, to go to a place that didn't echo with his thoughts. He needed to be doing something active. He needed to get back to work. He didn't hear the door click shut or Susan's footsteps as she walked back down the hall. He put out one hand towards the black book on the desk, flinching as his fingers closed on the cover. Once it was in his grip, he tucked securely it under one arm and grabbed his omni. He then set the device to automatic and activated it. When Garth opened the door seconds later, Bogg, too, was already gone.


	2. Reentry

"I don't know, Frank, the call just said a one-car accident off Route 22. It's just our dumb luck we were on call tonight." The EMT continued checking over the equipment stacked in the back of the moving ambulance.

"Dumb is right," Frank snorted. "Ten bucks says it's some stupid kid who had a few too many." His partner didn't respond. "Joe, are we on?" The ambulance slowed, and Joe was staring out the window. Frank crossed to the other side to see what had his partner transfixed. "Oh, crap."

The car was on fire. The driver's side door looked as if it had burst open on impact, and members of the volunteer fire department were standing as far back as they could and still drench the flames with water from the pumper truck. The EMTs grabbed what they needed for an initial search and ran out. Frank found the captain and yelled, "Anyone in there, Mike?"

The captain shook his head. "Driver must have gotten out. Windshield's still intact. Whoever he is, he's lucky. Be burned alive if he'd gotten stuck." Frank could just make out the words over the combined noise of the fire and the hoses. "I'm not sure how long we have. Fire's close to the gas tank. Find him quick."

Joe had already started searching the brush in the immediate area. Frank joined him, shining a flashlight through the leaves and branches. Seconds stretched into minutes, then Joe grabbed Frank's arm, pointing the beam a little further to the left. "Frank, there." The circle of light came to rest on a hand. The two burst into action, Joe moving to the victim and Frank sprinting back to the ambulance for a stretcher.

Joe cleared away as much of the brush as he could and gulped when he got his first look at the driver. "Holy Mother of... it's a kid!"

"Ten bucks," Frank yelled as he guided the stretcher to the location.

"No, Frank, a **kid** kid," Joe yelled back. "Can't be more than sixteen. Probably doesn't even have a license yet." He checked the boy's vital signs. "Has a pulse, though. **Lucky **kid."

The captain ran over. "Get him out as fast as you can. The fire's gone too far. Car's gonna blow."

They strapped the boy to the stretcher and ran to the ambulance.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Patient's a white male juvenile, about sixteen years of age. No ID. Bruises over fifty percent of his body, four inch laceration over the right temple. Probable concussion, most likely severe – he's still unconscious," Frank said into the radio. "Vitals are..." He continued updating the hospital while Joe monitored the boy.

"Wonder what the kid was doing out there?" Joe muttered to himself. He gently pushed up the kid's eyelids, checked his pupils with a flashlight, and was relieved to see them respond appropriately. Under the bruises and the dirt the boy looked well cared for. The clothes he wore were reasonably new, although the jeans now had rips in both knees, and the blue polo was in shreds. His dark, curly hair looked like it had been cut recently.

As Joe cleaned the gash on the boy's forehead, the kid's eyes fluttered open. "What happened?" he asked. "Where am I?"

"It's okay, kid," Joe replied, waving to get Frank's attention. "We're taking you to the hospital. You were in an accident. Do you remember how you got in the car?" The boy stared at him with glassy eyes, clearly not comprehending what Joe was saying to him.

Frank put the radio down and came over. "Son, can you tell us your name?"

The boy blinked, trying to focus. "Jeff," he finally said. "Jeffrey Jones."

"Good, Jeff," Frank encouraged. "Can you tell us your address? Or your phone number?"

For a moment Jeff looked confused, then gave them an address and phone number in Manhattan.

"Okay, Jeff," Joe said. "Can we contact your parents at that number?" He was surprised to see the boy's eyes fill with tears. Jeff started to shake his head but stopped almost immediately, wincing with pain. "Jeff, you all right?"

"Folks are dead," Jeff breathed out. "Aunt Elizabeth." His eyes were losing focus.

"Stay with us son," Frank encouraged. "How old are you, Jeff?"

Jeff's eyes moved to Frank's face. "Eleven." The word sounded slurred. Joe looked from Jeff to Frank and shook his head. "No way," he mouthed.

Frank's eyebrows raised. "Eleven? Okay. Can you tell me what year it is?" He glanced at his partner.

"Eighty-two," Jeff whispered. Then his expression went slack and his eyes closed as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Joe and Frank stared at each other. "Did I say lucky?" Joe asked. "Kid's lost four years." He nodded to the radio. "You better warn the hospital, so they'll know what to expect."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The nurses woke Jeff up every hour on the hour. They checked his vital signs, asked him simple questions, and helped him drink or get to the bathroom if he needed to. Light hurt his eyes, so they left the room in semi-darkness as much as possible. Jeff woke up on his own a few minutes before the tenth visit – or was it the eleventh? He had lost count. He waited, but this time no one came. This was a problem as he needed to use the bathroom and wasn't sure he should be walking around without help. Until now, he hadn't been alert enough to ask what was wrong with him. He was a little surprised Aunt Elizabeth hadn't yet arrived to scold him for wasting her time, but he supposed the doctors had kept her away for now. He also wondered how he had gotten there and, more importantly, how quickly he could leave. Being in the hospital reminded him too much of the last time he had been in one, after the crash that killed his parents. He rubbed his eyes and tried to think of something else. Aunt Elizabeth could be coming any minute, and she didn't do well with his emotions.

Fortunately, his physical needs soon took precedence over everything else. He pushed the call button next to his bed. No response. He turned his head gently from side to side. The only pain he felt came from the stitches his fingers could feel in his forehead, so he slipped out of the bed and headed stealthily to the bathroom. Once there, he flipped on the light, did what he needed to, and washed his hands. As he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and froze, his blood running cold.

The on-duty nurses were leaving the emergency in the room three doors down when they heard Jeffrey yelling. The nurse who got to his room first found him pressed against the wall farthest from the mirror, his eyes wide and his breath coming in short gasps. She gently pulled him out of the bathroom and guided him back to the bed. "Shhh. It's all right, Jeffrey. It's all right. We're going to do our best to find out what happened to you." She rocked him back and forth in her arms until his breathing slowed, then turned to the younger nurse standing stock-still next to the bed, a shocked expression on her face. "Mary, go get Dr. Parker. **Now**." She brushed the curls from Jeff's forehead. "Tell that man if he's not here in five minutes, he will have me to deal with. Drag him here if you need to." The younger nurse sprinted out of the room, yelling "I'll be right back with him, Karen!" and ran down the hall. Then Karen went back to stroking Jeffrey's head and whispering to him what words of comfort that she could.


	3. Retrieval

Detective Kevin Flannery read over his reports one more time as he waited for someone to bring Jeffrey Jones to the conference room at the Putnam Hospital Center in Carmel, NY. He looked at the boy's last school photo from his files spread out on the table in front of him and tried to put himself in Jeffrey's shoes. To wake up one morning and realize four years had passed that you had no memory of. Flannery shook his head, not even able to comprehend what the boy must be feeling. Or what Elizabeth Jones must have felt when she got the news.

Flannery had gone and told her of Jeffrey's reappearance personally. She had moved from the apartment she had shared with her fiancé – or was it her boyfriend? – once the publicity surrounding her nephew's disappearance had subsided. The guy, whoever he was, had performed his own disappearing act once his name had been cleared, and she had needed to find a less expensive place to live. As next of kin, her address had been kept on file in case new information came to light. After four years, though, no one had actually expected any. Now instead of information, they had the boy. Although Flannery hadn't seen him yet, fingerprints didn't lie; the boy upstairs in the juvenile ward **was **Jeffrey Jones. What Flannery wanted to find out now was where the boy had been for the last four years, not to mention how he had ended up in a car wreck in Lake Carmel. A lead on the other set of fingerprints found on the black book in the kid's bedroom would be a bonus. Petty criminals were one thing, but Flannery had no use for anyone who would hurt a kid.

The conference room door opened, hinges squeaking slightly. Flannery looked up and saw a lanky teenager in a hospital gown and robe walk in, a doctor flanking him with a hand on the boy's shoulder. There was no question it was the same boy. He was older and taller with more adult-looking facial features, but the black, curly hair and dark eyes were the same as the eleven-year-old boy in the photo from Flannery's file.

Flannery stood and nodded once. The doctor guided Jeffrey to a seat across from the detective and introduced himself as Dr. Steven Parker. "I don't need to tell you, Detective, Jeffrey's been through a lot the past few days. You need to go easy on him." They sat down, and Flannery noted with interest the doctor's protective tone and stance regarding Jeffrey. He stole a glance at the boy sitting across the table. Hospital staff was concerned about the memory loss and unsure of its cause but had assured Flannery that Jeffrey was in good health and showed no signs of physical abuse. Looking at him, Flannery thought he appeared to have been well-cared for.

Jeffrey returned Flannery's gaze. "I'm not pretending," he said once their eyes met. "The last thing I remember is hearing Aunt Elizabeth and Tom arguing about a vacation they had planned. I went into my room... Then nothing until the hospital. I have no idea where I've been or how I got in that car. I don't think I even know how to drive." Jeff looked at Dr. Parker. "The doctor thinks my mind is trying to protect itself from something."

The corner of Flannery's mouth quirked into a smile. "You do realize I can't ask you anything without your aunt here, Jeffrey," he said. "You're underage."

Jeffrey shrugged. "Apparently not as underage as I feel," he responded, trying to make a joke. Flannery could see the uneasiness emanating from the boy's eyes. He could tell the outward calm Jeff was projecting was a facade. It also appeared the kid knew how to handle himself in unfamiliar situations. "Every time I see my reflection, I jump. Dr. Parker had to show me how to shave this morning." Jeff's lips curved up into a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Aunt Elizabeth's probably going to want proof I'm really me. This way, you get some information before the tests start."

The hinges on the door squealed again. A receptionist ushered Elizabeth Jones into the room. Her eyes widened briefly as they fell on Jeff's face, then she turned her head away. There was no other outward recognition, no pleasure in her face, no hug for the boy she hadn't seen in so long. Flannery watched Jeffrey's expression close as if a door had been slammed in his face, and realized that although Elizabeth Jones was the boy's only family, there was no bond between them. Once the unpleasantness surrounding Jeff's disappearance was over, she had probably been relieved to be free of the responsibility of raising her brother's son. The restoration of her nephew to her life seemed to scare her.

Flannery stood again. "Ms. Jones, thank you for coming. I'm sure you have some questions for Jeffrey," he said. "Things that will verify his identity?"

Aunt Elizabeth stayed standing in the doorway and shook her head. "No. If you say he's Jeffrey, I believe you." Her voice betrayed no emotion. Flannery wondered at her lack of interest until it occurred to him she probably didn't know the boy well enough to know what questions to ask. She turned to the men at the table. "You have no idea where he's been? Or how he got here?" She neither looked at Jeff nor directed her questions at him.

"Pretty much, you know what we know," Flannery told her. "Jeff was found off Route 22 at the scene of a one-car accident. The car was destroyed so we can't get any clues from it. No one else seems to have been in the car, and Jeffrey doesn't remember what happened. Nor can he tell us where he's been for the past four years." He paused before continuing, feeling himself growing angry at the woman's lack of response. "As a matter of fact, the last thing he **does **remember involves you."

"What?" Elizabeth's eyes darted towards Jeffrey, now squirming in his seat.

Flannery could see Jeff's discomfort and, with much difficulty, backed down. Now **he **was getting protective of the boy. "He heard voices, yours and Tom's – was that his name? - in another room the night he disappeared." Both aunt and nephew relaxed with surprisingly similar motions. Flannery turned to Jeff who was now watching the dectective with guarded eyes. He mentally berated himself for putting the boy in such a difficult position; his aunt wouldn't want to know Jeff had heard her 'discussion' with the now-gone boyfriend. "Jeff," he said in a gentler tone of voice, "do you have any questions for your aunt?" The boy twitched, obviously wanting information about something but afraid to ask. "I'm sure she'll be happy to answer anything you ask," he said giving the woman a pointed look. She nodded reluctantly.

Jeffrey muttered something indistinct. When there was no response, he cleared his throat and tried again. "Ralph?" he asked. "Is he...?" He couldn't finish the question.

"The dog?" Elizabeth finally looked at Jeffrey, her tone surprised but dismissive. "I couldn't take him with me when I moved. The doorman found a family who could take care of him." She shifted her posture. "I don't know where he is now."

Jeff blinked a few times. Then he nodded and slumped back against the chair. "Dr. Parker? I'm tired. Can I go back to the room and lie down?"

Parker put an arm around Jeff's shoulders. "I'll take you back in just a minute, son. Go outside and wait for me." The protective stance was back again. After the door closed, the doctor turned to Elizabeth. "Jeffrey's sustained a severe concussion. I'd like to keep him one more night just to be safe. Then he's going to need rest and watching for the next few weeks. No strenuous activity or staying up too late. You should also have him checked by your own physician." The doctor paused, then looked Elizabeth right in the face, holding her eyes with his own. "There's no way to know when or if his memory will return. I'll get you the names of some therapists who may be able to help him cope in either case." He moved as if to start walking, then stopped suddenly. "Ms. Jones, your nephew is a remarkable boy. We see more injured children in this hospital than we would like, and we've never had one like Jeffrey before. He is handling this whole situation with grace and maturity that many adults aren't capable of. You should consider yourself lucky that you got him back." He turned, shook Flannery's hand, then left the room. He did not, Flannery noticed, offer his hand to Jeffrey's aunt.

Flannery started gathering his papers aware that Elizabeth Jones hadn't left and was watching him. After several minutes of paper shuffling, she finally cleared her throat. "Detective?" Flannery stopped what he was doing and looked up at her. Now that she wasn't facing Jeffrey she looked strangely fragile and more human. "What do I do?"

"What do you do about what?" Flannery didn't want to feel sorry for her, but she suddenly seemed helpless, out of her element.

"Jeffrey." Her fingers were interlocked with each other, the knuckles turning white. "I didn't know what to do with him before. Now?" She shook her head. "I'm not equipped to deal with this."

Flannery considered his reply. He wanted to tell her to grow up, to get equipped, that the boy in that hospital room needed her, but he wasn't sure it would sink in. He didn't think she would understand. He decided to focus on tangibles instead. "Well," he said, "the first thing I would do is go shopping."

"Shopping?"

"He's got nothing. He's going to need clothes, food, sheets and towels. Then you should find out what you need to do to get him enrolled in school when it starts in a few weeks. He needs normalcy right now. Given what I remember from his bedroom, a library card would be a good idea, too." He packed up the last of his papers. "If it were me? I'd start interviewing therapists. For both of you." He stood, files in hand, went to the conference room door, and opened it. "And Ms. Jones? He's going to need a great deal of understanding and patience. You may think your life has been turned upside down, but whatever you're going through? It's ten times worse for him." Flannery walked through the door, leaving Elizabeth Jones standing alone inside the room.


	4. Reintegration

School was an unqualified disaster.

Jeff had thought nothing could be worse than his first two weeks back in New York. The ride from the hospital to the city had been conducted in total silence, and the next day Aunt Elizabeth went back to work at Macy's as a fashion buyer, a job that kept her away from home for long hours. Then the media got hold of the news of Jeff's 'miraculous' reappearance, trapping him in the one-bedroom apartment until a series of robberies finally lured the reporters away.

He had been wrong, though. High school was much, much worse.

It wasn't the coursework. Jeff had always enjoyed learning. In terms of the classes themselves English and History were no problem, Science mostly made sense as long as he read the textbook carefully, and Math improved once the school set him up with a tutor to help him catch up on four years of missed classes. It was the social dynamic that had him completely baffled. Intellectually, Jeff understood he was fifteen, almost sixteen. Outwardly he looked like the other kids in his classes, no longer a child but not quite an adult. Psychologically and emotionally, though, he still felt like the eleven-year-old who was grieving the loss of his parents not that long before. The other guys talked about girls, driver's license tests, and after-school jobs. Jeff couldn't even begin to relate to them.

Some of the kids knew about his situation and tried to be kind, but half the time Jeff couldn't understand what they were talking about. Pop culture references went right over his head, he had so much schoolwork to get caught up on he didn't have time to watch television, and radio stations played music he didn't recognize. Mostly he kept his head down and tried not to stand out.

A few weeks into the school year, Paul Hernandez, one of the kind crowd, approached him after his last class of the day. "Hey, Jones!" he called. "Hold up. I got a message for you." Jeff was stopped at his locker, balancing a stack of books in one arm while trying to turn the combination lock with his free hand. "Gimme a minute to get this straight," Paul said, taking the books so Jeff could open the door. "Okay, Carol told me that Emily said that Becky Johnson wants to know if you're gonna invite her to the Halloween dance."

Jeff gave Paul a blank look. "What?" He hadn't followed that at all.

Paul rolled his eyes. "Translation? Becky likes you. She wants you to invite her to the dance. I don't know why girls make it so difficult." He smiled at Jeff. "She's cute. You should ask her."

Jeff thought for a moment. "Which one's Becky?" He was stalling for time. There was no way he was ready to ask a girl on a date.

"Blonde curls," Paul replied. "You stare at the back of her head all through English." He snorted. "Rebecca Johnson. They do roll call in every class for the first month or so. Don't you pay attention?"

Jeff's knees suddenly felt weak. "Rebecca?" he whispered, leaning against the row of lockers for support. The room started spinning wildly, and he could feel cold sweat on his forehead. He knew that name. He **knew** a girl named Rebecca. Images flashed before his eyes. A girl with brown hair, brown eyes, and flour-covered hands. Then more images of the same girl with longer hair, a blue dress... a wedding ring? The spell passed almost as quickly as it came, and Jeff found Paul looking at him with a concerned face.

"Jeff, you okay?" He put the books inside the locker. "Did you remember something?"

Jeff shook his head. "Just dizzy for a second," he lied. "Tell Carol I said no. I'm not going to the dance." He turned to grab a few of the books but found the locker's opening blocked by a muscled arm.

"Not going to the dance, Jones?" a loud voice said. Jeff spun to the right, trying to remember the name that went with the face. Danny Boyle from Science – handsome, not too bright, the class bully – stood behind him with his hangers-on at his side. "How come? Don't like girls or something?"

"Shove off, Boyle," Paul told him. "Leave him alone."

"Maybe that's really what's wrong with Jones, right guys?" Boyle snickered to his friends. "Maybe that's where he was when he was gone. Traveling with a 'friend'," he sneered, putting air quotes around the last word, "I bet he remembers just fine what he was doing. I bet girls just don't..." The taunting words stopped as Jeff's fist connected with Boyle's stomach.

Paul grabbed Jeff's arms and tried to hold them down. "Jeffrey! No! Stop it!" But Jeff couldn't stop. Boyle had pushed too far. All the frustration, all the helplessness, all the anger he had been fighting to keep in for the last month boiled over, and his fists flew, hitting the bigger boy anywhere they could reach. Boyle and his friends backed down the hallway and broke into a run. Jeff tore himself away from Paul, started chasing Boyle, and ran straight into the principal's back. Mr. Phillips grabbed Jeff's arm and held him still, demanding to know what was going on. Boyle had already started yelling about Jeffrey attacking him for no reason when Paul caught up with them, ready to defend his friend. "Don't listen to him, Mr. Phillips! Danny started it! He was giving Jeff a hard time about his memory."

Mr. Phillips looked down at Jeff, a stern expression on his face and frown lines around his startlingly blue eyes. _Blue eyes. _ Jeff could feel everything going off-balance again. _ Blue eyes and a wide smile. _Despite Mr. Phillips' grip on his arm, Jeff sank to his knees as another image flashed through his mind. The stern expression on the principal's face instantly turned to one of concern. "Mr. Jones, are you all right?" _The voice is wrong_, Jeff thought; it wasn't deep enough; it wasn't... The shard of memory vanished, and Jeff was left to face the consequences of his actions.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The dreams started that night.

Aunt Elizabeth hadn't been thrilled to receive a phone call at work about Jeffrey's fight but agreed that, given the extenuating circumstances, a week of detention seemed an appropriate punishment. After dinner, she had ordered Jeff to bed early "to think about what he had done" and shut herself in her room, leaving him alone yet again. Exhausted and embarrassed, he fell into bed and was asleep within minutes.

He felt like he was falling, or flying, continually crashing in bone-jarring landings. Impressions and images flew through his mind. Airplanes. Blue eyes in a kind face. A Roman fighting arena. Strong arms that held him when he was hurt or scared. Fire and flying bullets. Having a job to do and a sense of belonging. He woke in the morning to an insistent alarm ringing near his head and tears drying on his face. He felt like he had been dragged on a twenty-mile march instead of sleeping, and he thought about what he had seen. The dream hadn't provided any answers. All it did was pose more questions. Had he dreamt of things that had actually happened? No, that was impossible. He'd never been to Rome or in a war zone. Or had he? How had he ended up back in New York with Aunt Elizabeth? All Jeff knew for sure was something – or someone – important was missing from his mind, and before he was dressed for the day, he had made his decision. He was going to find out what had happened. He was going to get those memories back. He was going to get his life back. No matter what it took.


	5. Grounded

After a hard-won green light at the Fortress of Louisbourg in 1758, Bogg limped to the outer walls of the settlement. He sat outside the destroyed fortifications, tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt and bound the shrapnel wound on his right leg. Once done, he grabbed some beef jerky from his dwindling supply and leaned his head back against the fortress wall. He closed his eyes, hoping for a few moments of dreamless sleep to recharge him for the next assignment. It didn't come. Nor had it come after the last voyage. Or the one before that. Madrid. Istanbul. California. Chile. Sub-Saharan Africa. After a while the assignments started blurring together, and Bogg lost track of the number of red lights turned to green. Each voyage followed the same pattern as they did previously, but now they felt different to him. He didn't care where he went or how much time he spent there as long as he was doing something. He needed to be in constant motion. Inactivity forced his brain into an endless loop of painful thoughts all of which started and ended with the choice Jeffrey had made. Exhaustion allowed him brief periods of respite – moments where he didn't have enough energy to wonder what he could have done differently, what words he could have used to convince Jeff to stay – so he pushed himself harder each voyage in order to get some rest.

Bogg took a bite of the jerky and sighed. Apparently, sleep wasn't going to come this time, either. As he chewed, he tucked his guidebook under his arm and reached for his omni, hoping for a soft landing for his injured leg, but before he could press the button, the omni suddenly activated itself. He found himself being hurled through the cosmos, landing hard on his right side on a cold, marble floor. Pain jolted through his body, making him see stars and nearly vomit.

"Finally," a gruff, authoritative voice said. "You have led us on quite a chase, Voyager Bogg." There was anger in the voice, layered with compassion and a tinge of amusement.

Bogg struggled to his feet, swaying slightly as he attempted to put weight on his wounded leg. He looked around and groaned. He was back at headquarters. "Councilor Garth?" he spluttered, "What... Why..."

Garth's eyes widened as he saw the makeshift bandage. "Voyager Bogg, you're injured."

"A scratch," Bogg responded. "I'm fine."

Garth examined Bogg's face closely. "When did you last sleep?" he asked. Bogg shook his head. He swayed again and looked for a close wall to lean against in what he hoped would pass for a casual manner. A quick glance, however, showed they were standing in the middle of a room. "Or eat a proper meal?" Garth continued. Bogg looked down at the beef jerky still in his hand, unable to answer. Garth snorted. "I thought so," the older man said, shaking his head.

"So, I'm a little tired," Bogg said. "I was **trying** to sleep when I was recalled." Belligerence rang out in his voice.

Garth's expression softened. "Phineas, I wanted to see you after Voyager Jones left us." Bogg felt his heart contract and knew every emotion he had experienced since Jeffrey's leaving now showed on his face. Garth briefly turned his head away, giving the younger man a moment of privacy. "Your somewhat hasty departure from Susan's office left us no choice. You may not realize this, but any time a partnership is dissolved, the affected Voyagers are monitored..."

"With all due respect, _sir_. I'm doing fine," Bogg snapped. "Green lights on every mission since..." his voice faltered. "Since I went back in the field." He tried stalking away, but the injured leg wouldn't hold his weight, and he fell forward.

Garth reached out and grabbed Bogg's arm, pulling him upright, then continued as if Bogg hadn't spoken. "And given the length of time your partnership with Voyager Jones subsisted, in conjunction with your emotional attachment to each other, it was decided you would benefit from counseling before returning to the field. We neglected, however, to take into account your impulsiveness and failed to deactivate your omni. That error has been rectified."

Bogg's mouth dropped open. "Professor, I said I'm fine." He tried to shake his arm free from Garth's grasp.

"Looking at the condition you are in right now," Garth continued, "I would say recalling you was a wise decision on the Council's part." Garth paused. "Voyager Bogg, you are hereby grounded until further notice." The councilor's tone indicated he would brook no opposition. "Phineas, you're going to injure yourself permanently the way you're pushing yourself. Please understand this is not only for your own good, it is also for the good of history." Garth cast an appraising gaze at the Voyager in front of him. "Now, let's get you to a room so someone can look at that leg, and then you can get some sleep." He gently started propelling Bogg towards a door. "Perhaps we can find you some food and get you cleaned up as well. You could use a shave."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Judging by the strength of the painkillers the medics had given him and the general wooziness he now felt, Bogg guessed his leg injury was worse than he had originally believed. The medics had cleaned and stitched the wound, made him swallow several pills, and put him to bed in one of the dormitory-style rooms reserved for off-duty field workers with his leg propped up on extra pillows and a pair of crutches within easy reach. He lay there feeling both numb and strangely clear-headed and watched the shadows the bedside lamp made on the ceiling. A rhythmic popping sound came from the hallway, stopped, and then started again before he realized it was someone knocking on his door. "Come in," he said, his voice sounding fuzzy in his ears. He tried again. "Come in," he called, louder this time.

Susan opened the door, holding a tray of fruit and bread with one arm. "Phineas, they said you were here. I brought you..." She stopped and gasped, then tried to continue as if nothing had happened. "I brought you something to eat. The medics said bland food would be all right."

"I must really look awful," Bogg said to her, the medication loosening his tongue. Even with his now-dulled senses – Susan was slightly out of focus and had a sort of halo emanating from her dress – he could see her dismayed expression and paled cheeks. He put a hand to his face, felt more than the beginnings of a beard, and followed up with, "Hmmm. Garth was right. I need a shave." He lowered the hand, noting it shake as he did so, and said, "Not right now, though." After a futile attempt to sit up, he decided he was better off not moving too much and gestured to a nearby chair. "Okay, Susan, level with me. How much trouble am I in? And why does everyone keep looking at me the way you are right now?"

"You're not in any trouble, Phineas." Susan put the tray down on a table near the bed, moved the chair he had indicated closer to him, and sat. She picked up a piece of bread and took a deep breath. "And we're all looking at you this way because it looks like we were right to be worried. You don't look like you."

Bogg blinked a few times. It was getting harder to stay focused, to stay awake. "I hope I look better," he tried to joke. Susan's expression didn't change. "So who do I look like, then?"

Susan put the bread back on the tray and took his hand in both of hers. "You've lost weight. You look like you've acquired some scars that weren't there the last time I saw you. And the beard. The biggest change is in your eyes. Your eyes are different. Harder." She paused, considering her next words. "You look like a broken-down version of you." Bogg nodded. With the odd clarity the painkillers had given him, he knew she was right. He blinked again, his eyes feeling heavier and harder to keep open. "This is what the Council was afraid of, Phineas. This is why we've been monitoring you. Or at least trying to. You've been moving around so much they couldn't get a lock on you until today."

"Garth said something about monitoring..." Bogg yawned, "Voyagers whose partnerships broke up." He stopped for a moment to think, but his brain was having a hard time sifting through the memories of that conversation. There was something important he needed to remember, something Garth had implied but hadn't said straight out, something that hadn't made an impact when Bogg heard it earlier but did now. What **was** it? Then, with a flash of clarity, he remembered. _Voyager Jones._ "Wait, Susan, Garth still called Jeffrey..." another yawn overtook him, "Voyager...," then another. He just couldn't keep his eyes open any more. As the medication finally took hold, his last conscious thought was that he needed to remember what Garth had said about Jeffrey. Then his eyes closed, and he sank into sleep.


	6. Counseling

Bogg woke the next morning with a fuzzy head, a throbbing leg, and the conviction he had forgotten something important. After a few minutes of frustrated thought, he settled for remembering Susan's description of how he looked. He grabbed the crutches from beside the bed, hobbled into the bathroom, and examined his reflection. Generally his appearance only interested him insofar as it got the attention of the ladies in the various time zones he visited. Now what he saw startled him. Susan was right; he didn't look like himself. There were dark circles under his eyes, the bones in his face were more prominent, the beard that had grown was scraggly and unkempt. The face staring back at him looked defeated and beaten-down. He knew if he had any chance of getting back in the field, something needed to be done. He reached for soap and a razor and got to work, emerging from the bathroom sometime later looking and feeling a least a little more like himself.

He eased into the chair by the bed and went over the previous day's events in his mind, trying again to remember what had struck him so forcefully the night before. Absently, he grabbed an apple from the tray on the table and started to eat. The memory stubbornly refused to resurface. He was just about to go in search of Susan when he heard a knock at the door. Hoping she had come to check on him, he put down the remains of the apple and called for the person to come in.

The man who entered the room was a complete stranger. He was a few years younger than Bogg with straight dark hair, gray eyes, and a nose that looked as though it had been broken once or twice over the course of his life. He wore the khaki-colored dress uniform of a British army officer from World War II that had a silver omni clipped to the belt. He carried a book in his left hand – not a guidebook but a novel. "Voyager Bogg, yes?" His clipped and polished upper-class British accent didn't mesh with the broken nose, and Bogg made a mental note to ask him about it. The man walked over to Bogg, his right hand outstretched. "Voyager Oliver Mayhew. Class of '05. Councilor Garth sent me to see you."

Bogg's greeting smile faded, and he withdrew his hand from the man's firm handshake. "I told Garth I was fine," Bogg said. "I don't need to talk to anyone. I need my leg to heal so I can get back in the field."

Mayhew's expression was placid and somewhat abashed. "Perfectly understand, Voyager Bogg. However, I'm in a bit of a bind, here." He tapped his fingers on his book. "You see, Garth is expecting me to talk to you. Possibly for an hour or so. If I leave now, he'll – what was the expression? Oh, yes, he'll have a cow." Bogg raised his eyebrows. "However," Mayhew continued, "if you will indulge me, I have a plan to get us both off the hook, as they say. I have come prepared to amuse myself for the time we are trapped in here," he waved the book in Bogg's direction, "so when the good Councilor asks if I came here as ordered, I can honestly answer 'Yes, Sir.' You can just ignore me and go back to what you were doing."

"I suppose that's as good a plan as any," Bogg muttered. "Just don't expect me to cooperate if you start asking questions."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Mayhew responded. "I'll just sit here. Oh, you have fruit. Can you pass me a banana?" He took a chair near Bogg, cradled the book across his chest with the cover out, and held out his hand for the fruit.

Bogg couldn't help noticing the title as he handed Mayhew the banana. "_Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_. That's Twain, isn't it? We met him on one of our early voyages. He was just a kid when we saw him." Mayhew opened the book and started reading. Bogg raised his voice. "He helped Jeffrey free Harriet Tubman from a riverboat. Jeff was tickled pink when he found out Sam was Samuel Clemens. Twain's his favorite author."

"Really." Mayhew's response was polite but uninterested. He kept his face buried in his book.

"Yeah," Bogg said, a note of pride in his voice. "I've never seen a kid more interested in books." His mouth curved into a rueful grin. "Probably a good thing."

Mayhew finally looked up. "And why is that?" he asked.

"Kid was my guidebook for the last four years. Good thing, too. I never paid too much attention in class. I would've been lost without him." Bogg paused. The realization that Jeff was gone hit him again. Hard. "I guess I am lost without him," he said in a softer tone.

"I've never understood how you field workers manage," Mayhew responded. "You get sent all over time and history with nary a break. And you had to do it with a youngster? I'd think it would be a relief to be back on your own. I mean, having the boy around all time meant you had make sure he was fed, that he got enough sleep, that he didn't get lost or injured. I could see where it would be a real hardship to have to look after a child all the time."

"No." Bogg shook his head. "Jeff's a great Voyager and a great kid. Sure, he complains a lot... Complained, I mean." He took a few breaths before continuing. "He probably has less to complain about now. It's probably better for him."

Mayhew put the book down and cocked his head to the side. "But is it better for you, Voyager Bogg?"

"No." Bogg's voice was bleak. "It's not better. I miss him. I love that kid like he's my own, and I miss having him around."

"Then why did you let him leave?" Mayhew asked gently.

"It was what he needed. It was what he chose," Bogg answered. "Do you have any children, Oliver?"

Mayhew shook his head. "I was engaged to be married when I was plucked. It was during the Blitz. One minute I was returning from a dinner with my commanding officer, the next I was in hospital here at headquarters. I never had the privilege."

"When you have a kid, you need to do what's best for him, even if it's not what's best for you," Bogg said softly, staring into space. "Even if it means giving him up."

"And yet you allowed him to make the choice," Mayhew responded. "Did Jeffrey know how much of a sacrifice it would be for you?" Bogg shook his head. He had made sure Jeff hadn't known how hurt and angry he felt at being left behind. "You gave young Voyager Jones a gift, Voyager Bogg. I just hope he appreciated it."

Bogg's head snapped up, his mind whirling. "You called him Voyager Jones. That's what I've been trying to remember all morning. Garth did, too." He replayed Garth's words in his mind. _You may not realize this, but any time a partnership is dissolved, the affected Voyagers are monitored_. "You're monitoring Jeffrey," he breathed out, feeling shocked as the realization hit. "Is he all right? Is something wrong? Did Drake...?" Bogg suddenly felt sick.

"Voyager Bogg! Physically, Jeffrey is safe." Mayhew's voice cut through Bogg's panic. "You are correct. We are monitoring him. It's standard operating procedure. He is not in **any** danger from Drake." His voice grew exasperated. "What do you take us for, man? If Drake were anywhere near the boy, there would be a squadron of us down there protecting him. It may surprise you to know there are many here at headquarters who care for him nearly as much as you do."

Bogg could feel his heart rate slow back down to normal. He looked at Mayhew, telegraphing an apology with his eyes. "But you called him **Voyager** Jones. Does that mean he's coming back?" He felt confused and a little angry that no one had mentioned the possibility to him.

"We don't know." The soldier rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "The altered time line hasn't resolved itself clearly, yet . It's not making the higher-ups very happy," he admitted ruefully. He moved his hands back to his lap. "Garth told me you've seen parts of Jeffrey's file. Whether he returns or not, he's far too valuable to history for us not to look after him."

Bogg nodded in agreement. He had always felt that way. "You said Jeff's safe physically. What does that mean?"

"There have been some unanticipated complications with Jeffrey's return to his time line." Bogg could see Mayhew was trying to decide how much to say, how much information it was safe to reveal. A curt nod indicated when the decision was made. "The Council appointed you Jeffrey's guardian, so I will share with you what I know." Mayhew took a few long seconds to organize his thoughts. "The procedure was performed as Voyager Jones requested, and he was sent to his aunt in 1986." Bogg closed his eyes with a sharp intake of breath. "I apologize; I know the subject is painful for you. His adjustment is... frankly, it's not going well. Because his memories were erased, his psychological age now doesn't match his physical age, and this appears to be causing him emotional distress. We are doing what we can to ease the situation, to help with the transition back to normal life. It may take a while. He is in an extraordinary situation."

Bogg nodded. "Is his aunt treating him well?"

"It appears so. Most of our data concerns Jeffrey, and he hasn't spent a great deal of time thinking about her." Mayhew's mouth quirked. "To be truthful, we don't entirely know what outcome to expect. The adolescent brain isn't fully formed yet. It is still growing and changing. The others probably wouldn't want you to know this, but we're whistling in the dark a bit ourselves."

Bogg could tell what that last admission had cost Mayhew. "If there's anything I can do to help you get him better settled, any information you need... I want him to be happy."

"As do we all, Voyager Bogg." Mayhew stood up. "I've taken up enough of your time for today. I don't expect Councilor Garth planned to patrol the corridor the entire time, so it is probably safe for me to take my leave." He again extended a hand to Bogg. "It's been a pleasure and a privilege meeting you, sir. I will update you on Jeffrey's situation as much as I can. If you ever do need to talk, please consider my door open to you."

Bogg took the proffered hand and shook it, then grabbed his crutches. "Actually, I was thinking of finding something more substantial to eat than fruit." He stood, balancing carefully. "Would you care to join me?"

Mayhew looked pleasantly surprised. "I would like that very much." He walked to the door and opened it. "After you."

Bogg slowly made his way across the room. "Three things, though." Mayhew waited. "First, my name is Phineas. If one more person refers to me as Voyager Bogg, or Fieldworker Bogg, I may have to hit them with one of these." He lifted one of the crutches a few inches off the floor. "Second, I don't drink tea. Can't stand the stuff."

"And third?" Mayhew asked, his eyebrows raised.

"You'll need to tell me the story behind the broken nose."

This time Mayhew chuckled. "I'm not sure we'll have enough time. It's a bit of a tale." They walked out into the hall, the door closing quietly behind them.


	7. Therapy

"Jeffrey, wake up. Wake up!" Somewhere just on the edge of consciousness, Jeff could hear a voice. An angry voice. "We're going to be late!" Aunt Elizabeth's angry voice. "I swear, I'm going to drag you there in your pajamas!"

Jeff opened an eye. Aunt Elizabeth's watch was inches away from his nose. His other eye was still closed, pressed shut against the open notebook on his pillow. According to the watch, it was quarter to nine. Given the time, it had to be Saturday – otherwise he wouldn't be in bed this late – so he wasn't late for school. If it were a weekday, Aunt Elizabeth would have been gone already; she left for work before seven. Since all he had to do was homework, that meant he could go back to sleep.

"Jeffrey, our appointment is at nine. Get up!" The angry voice was now shouting.

_Appointment_, he thought lazily. _What.._.Jeff sat bolt upright, suddenly as awake as if he'd been doused with cold water. _Dr. Langford._ It wasn't Saturday. It was **Tuesday**, and they had their first meeting with the psychiatrist Dr. Parker had recommended. No wonder Aunt Elizabeth was upset – it had taken almost two months to get the appointment. He jumped out of bed and was dressed and ready to go – a bagel crammed in his mouth – in three minutes.

The New York City traffic gods smiled on them, and they made it to the mid-town office with thirty seconds to spare. Jeff tried in vain to flatten down his hair with one hand while the other clutched the notebook he had grabbed from the couch on the way out the door. The notebook was a record of his dreams, and he carried it everywhere. Each night Jeff read through it before going to sleep and each morning added to it any new information – faces, names, impressions, historical details – he gleaned from his dreams. He poured over the book at lunch and in study halls and thought about it during his more boring classes. He knew he wasn't doing as well in school as he should but felt getting his memory back was much more important than learning geometry or dissecting frogs.

The receptionist nodded at him and waved him towards a door, the rest of her attention on the phone. Aunt Elizabeth had said the doctor wanted to see him alone first so they could get acquainted. He looked to her for reassurance, but she was already sitting in the waiting area, her attention focused on a fashion magazine. Jeff gulped, straightened his shoulders, and opened the door. The doctor was standing beside her desk, her back to him. Long, pale blonde hair cascaded down past her shoulders. He gasped. "Susan?"

Dr. Langford swung around. "Sorry?" She was in her mid-forties, small lines around her brown eyes, and graying hair at her temples. She was taller than the image in his mind, and her face was different, rounder with a darker complexion.

Jeff could feel his cheeks turning red. "Your hair. It reminded me of someone," he stammered. "Someone I think I knew."

"I see," she said, "and is this Susan someone you think you knew well?" She perched on the edge of her desk and regarded him with curiosity.

"I don't know," Jeff answered with regret. "It's gone now. Sorry." His head drooped.

"Well, Jeffrey, that's why you're here, isn't it? To see if I can help you with that." She motioned for him to sit at one of the chairs in front of her desk, picked up a notebook and pen, then sat in the chair next to him. "I always find sitting behind the desk a little too formal," she said. She held her out a hand. "I'm Elinor Langford. It's nice to meet you." She gave him a grin. "Let's see what we can do with that recalcitrant memory of yours." For the first time in what felt like forever, Jeffrey smiled.

The appointment felt like a game of twenty questions. Dr. Langford had read Dr. Parker's notes on Jeff's case but wanted to hear Jeff tell his story in his own words. She listened with interest to his last memories before the accident and his account of waking up in the hospital, stopping him occasionally to ask for clarification on certain details. He told her about the flashes of memory – faces or names – that struck at odd times. She asked about his memories of his parents, his relationship with Aunt Elizabeth, and how school was going socially and academically. He hadn't talked so much in months. It felt good.

"I think this is a good start," she finally said. "Why don't you head to the waiting room and send your aunt in. I'll see you next Tuesday. Let's make it at four so you don't have to miss any school." She smiled broadly at him as he left.

At the next appointment Jeff opened up about his trouble relating to other kids his age, how he felt like he didn't fit in anywhere. Dr. Langford was sympathetic and understanding. On the third Tuesday he told her about his dreams and showed her his notebook. She complimented him on using a dream journal. He tried to tell her he believed the dreams were actually memories, but he wasn't sure she understood. When he arrived the following Tuesday for his fourth appointment he found Dr. Langford sitting behind her desk. He stood and waited until she looked up.

"Jeffrey, you're a little early," she said, "but that's good." She picked something up off the desk, put it in her hand, and moved to her usual chair. "I'd thought we'd try something different today. I spoke to your aunt about this, and we both felt it would be worth a shot."

Jeff sat, feeling confused and a little panicky. She'd spoken to Aunt Elizabeth about their sessions. He only hoped she'd edited what he had said about how strained their relationship felt to him. "What is it?" he asked, clutching his schoolbag with a nervous gesture. "You're not planning on hitting me over the head with something, are you?"

Dr. Langford laughed. "No. Popular culture has that one all wrong. That would actually cause more damage to someone's memory rather than restoring it." Jeff relaxed. "No, with retrograde amnesia we generally try to find objects, people, or places that can jog people's memories. Since we don't know where you were or who you were with, we need to try other methods. The fact that you seem to remember details from the time you were missing makes me believe the memories are still there in your subconscious. We just need to get to them." She leaned toward him. "Jeff, I'd like to try hypnotizing you to see if we can relax your conscious mind enough to let those memories out. If you're comfortable with this, that is."

Jeff fidgeted in his chair for a moment, considering. Finally he looked up at her. "What do I need to do?"

The doctor opened her hand to show a sparkling crystal. She held it up to the light. "Just relax, keep your eyes on this, and concentrate on my voice," she said.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Three... two... one. You can open your eyes." Jeff blinked a few times. The room seemed very bright, and Dr. Langford was looking at him with a curious expression. "How do you feel?"

Jeff thought for a moment. "I think my foot's asleep," he said, jiggling one of his legs slightly. "I feel like I haven't moved in a while. Did I do okay? I don't remember what I said."

The doctor tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. "I think we made some progress," she said slowly, but Jeff could tell something was bothering her. "Jeffrey, I'm going to ask your aunt to bring you back tomorrow morning at eight so we can discuss some further treatment options." She paused. "I don't want to say anything else until I've had a chance to go over my notes and talk with her." She smiled a half-smile that didn't extend to her eyes. "So, I'll see you tomorrow morning, then." It was a definite dismissal. Jeff collected his things and left, wondering what he had done wrong.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When they got to the office the next morning, Dr. Langford was in the waiting room to meet them. She directed Jeff to have a seat and motioned for Aunt Elizabeth to follow her into her office. Jeff noticed that Aunt Elizabeth didn't shut the door all the way and, after waiting a minute and looking around to make sure the receptionist wasn't about to walk in, he sidled over to doorway so he could hear them talk.

"... has constructed an entire fantasy world that revolves around history and time travel," Doctor Langford was saying.

"My brother was a history professor," Aunt Elizabeth said. "Jeff's been fascinated by history since he was small."

Doctor Langford continued. "In this world he's created, people travel through time as a sort of history police, making sure the time line stays on track. I believe he's using this fantasy to compensate for not being able to save his parents." She paused. "There's one person he talked about a lot, a man with blue eyes. If I had to guess, I'd say he's based on the person who took Jeff from your apartment. Jeff mentioned him several times but didn't give any other physical description. It's almost as if he's intentionally blocking any memories related to this person."

"I don't understand. He seems perfectly normal." Aunt Elizabeth's voice sounded muffled, as if she were holding a hand over her mouth.

"People suffering from delusional disorders **do** appear normal." Jeff started. _Delusion disorders?_ Dr. Langford shuffled some papers. "Here are some of the notes I took yesterday. He's shown me similar things in the notebook he carries around with him. Dates, places, names."

Aunt Elizabeth gasped loudly. "It's like that book the police found in his room during the investigation. They kept asking me about it, and I had no idea what it was."

"From what I can see, the fantasy world's hold on Jeff's mind is getting stronger. I've noticed it even in the short amount of time I've been treating him." Dr. Langford sighed. "If talk therapy doesn't start to help, we may need to look at other courses of treatment. Medication. Possibly..."

Horror-struck, Jeff backed away from the door unable to listen anymore, his heart pounding and his body trembling. _They think I'm crazy. What do I do? _He sat down hard in the chair farthest from the office door so he could distance himself from what he had heard. Another drier voice in his mind suggested that Dr. Langford might be right, that believing in time travel wasn't the act of a sane and rational person. _But the dreams._ They seemed more real than anything else. Jeff shook his head to clear it, and a brief picture of a large, brass pocket watch with dials and lights flashed behind his eyes. When his vision cleared, he had made up his mind.

The flashes of memory were of people he had met and things he knew; they weren't simply the product of an overactive imagination. He was sure of it. Now he needed to prove it. Dr. Langford had said most people got their memories back by coming into contact with familiar things. If he was going to find out what had really happened to him, he needed to get his hands on something from that lost time. _The book Aunt Elizabeth mentioned_, he thought. If that didn't jog a memory, he wasn't sure anything would. Jeff grabbed his wallet from his school bag and pulled out a business card and some change. Then he shouldered the bag, left the office as quietly as possible, and went out into the street in search of a payphone.


	8. Memories

Detective Flannery was waiting at the precinct's main desk when Jeff walked in. In his hands he carried a large black book sealed in plastic. "Jeffrey," he said, "it's nice to see you again. I hope there's a good reason you're here rather than at school?"

Jeff stopped. He hadn't thought of that. Technically, he was truant. He put a quick smile on his face. "Actually, Detective, I just came from a counseling appointment. My psychiatrist sort of suggested this." Technically, this wasn't a lie; he had just left Dr. Langford's office, and the idea for this experiment was the result of the conversation he had heard. That said, he was relieved to see Flannery relax. "She said I should try to find things that might bring some of my memories back. Aunt Elizabeth didn't really keep anything, but I heard her mention this book and thought seeing it might be a good idea."

"Still no luck remembering, huh?" Jeff could see both pity and compassion in Flannery's eyes. "Sure, Jeff. Let's go find someplace quieter." He led Jeff down the hall to a small interview room. "Come on in and have a seat. Would you like something to drink?" Jeff shook his head, and Flannery started unwrapping the book. Halfway through freeing it, he stopped. "Jeff," he said, his voice becoming serious, "if this helps you remember anything about where you've been, or who took you, I need to you tell me. We need to catch this person if we can."

Jeff looked up, his eyes troubled. "What if... what if whoever he is, he isn't a bad person? What if..."

"Jeff, have you heard of Stockholm syndrome?" Jeff shook his head. "It's a condition where kidnap victims start identifying with their captors, sometimes even bonding with them emotionally." Flannery's voice was kind but firm. "Jeffrey, even if you weren't hurt in any way, even if whoever took you is a 'nice person' as you say, you were gone for four years. He took you from your family."

"I know," Jeff whispered back. The problem was that Aunt Elizabeth didn't feel like family, at least not the way Jeff understood family. She provided food and shelter but had never filled the void left by his parents' deaths. It was different in his dreams. In the dreams he felt cared for, loved. Whoever the blue-eyed man was, he was the one who felt like family.

"Jeffrey?" Flannery sounded concerned.

"Sorry," Jeff said, sitting up straighter, "memory flash. It happens sometimes."

Flannery freed the book and handed it to Jeff. It was good-sized, thick and covered in black leather that had large teeth marks on the spine. Jeff ran a finger over them. "That's where Ralph grabbed it," he said with a wistful smile. "I couldn't get him to drop it." He held the book in his hands, but Flannery could tell he no longer saw it. His eyes were watching the past, and when he spoke again his voice sounded as though it were coming from far away. "He's trying to pull it away, but Ralph's just growling at him. I grabbed Ralph. I'm trying to get him to drop it, but he's just tugging harder. Then I lost my balance... and I'm falling..."

"Who, Jeff? Who's in the room with you? Where did he come from?" Flannery spoke as softly as he could, trying not to break Jeff's concentration.

Jeff turned towards the detective, not seeing him, still reliving the past. "What?"

"Who's in the room with you, Jeffrey? What does he look like?" Flannery's knuckles were turning white where he gripped the table.

The door opened. "Detective Flannery?" A uniformed officer stuck his head in the room. "Oh, Kev, there you are..."

"Not now!" Flannery barked, eyes still on Jeffrey's face.

"Sorry, Kevin," the officer shrugged, "Captain's looking for you. The deli robbery from yesterday."

Flannnery sighed. "Right." He turned to Jeff, unable to tell if the boy could even hear him. "Jeffrey, please. Stay here. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Jeff didn't see him leave, his mind still wrapped up in the memory. Then he had a thought. If the book alone elicited that clear a memory, what would happen if he had the book at the old apartment? Still dazed – hardly aware of what he was doing – he stuffed the book in his school bag and walked out of the police station.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jeff's luck held when he got to Aunt Elizabeth's old building. The doorman recognized him and – after thanking heaven for Jeff's safe return and assuring him Ralph had gone to a good home – told Jeff their old apartment was empty, currently between tenants. The appliances had just been replaced and the walls newly painted. Once the building superintendent understood why Jeff needed to see the empty apartment, he was more than willing to let the teenager spend as much time there as was needed. He had seen Jeff's story on the news and was happy to help. He unlocked the door and said he'd be back in an hour or so to see how Jeff was doing.

Heart pounding, Jeff walked through the unfurnished rooms to what had been his bedroom. Empty paint cans were stacked up where his bed had been; the fumes made his head ache. He dropped his bag by the windows and opened them, deciding the fresh air was worth the colder temperature. Once that was done, he knelt reverently by the bag and slowly pulled the black book out. He held it in his hands, running his fingers over the cover, and waited. Nothing happened. He could now clearly remember struggling with Ralph, but nothing new entered his mind. He shivered and started walking around the room, growing more disappointed each second, the fumes from the paint cans making his eyes sting. Frustrated, he walked closer to the open windows and squeezed his eyes shut.

Instantly, his view of the room changed.

With his eyes closed, he could 'see' the room as it had been – bed against the wall, bookshelves lined with books and photos, the broken window. Jeff clasped the book tighter against his chest. In his mind he saw an arm reach through the window and someone pulling himself into the room. He felt himself recoil from the oddly dressed stranger and again saw Ralph rush at the man, grabbing his book in his teeth. Eyes still closed, Jeff circled the spot where the figures in his memory struggled with the dog, steps faltering as the fumes made his head ring. Spellbound by the memory and senses dulled by the fumes, he didn't notice the straps of his school bag tangle around his feet. As he watched the younger version of himself lose his balance and plummet out the window, he stumbled, dropped the book, and pitched forward. Cold air rushed by his face as he fell toward the same window.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Bogg walked gingerly into Mayhew's office for his daily check-in leaning heavily on the cane in his right hand. After a week of hobbling around, he was glad to finally be rid of the crutches. The round of antibiotics was just about done, and his stitches were due to come out the next day. He looked forward to showing Oliver, who he now considered a friend, his new-found freedom of walking.

"Let me see if I've gotten this correct," Mayhew said with a grin, "they gave you this," gesturing towards the cane, "and told you to go easy on that leg." Bogg nodded. "So, of course, the first thing you do is walk all the way here from Medical – tiring yourself out, from the looks of it – to see me." Mayhew shook his head. "Git," he said good-naturedly. "You're going to re-injure that leg and end up stuck here for months. Then I'll never be rid of you."

"You'll miss me when I back in the field," Bogg said, smiling back at him.

"'Course, I will," Mayhew replied drily, "I won't know what to do with all my free time." He pulled up a chair and gestured for Bogg to sit. "You're looking well, Phin," he said more seriously. "I think once that leg's healed, we'll be able to declare you fit for service. How long do they..." He stopped as an older Asian woman in a kimono came to the door, a worried expression on her face. "Toshiko? Whatever's the matter, luv?"

"Oliver, the time line you asked me watch?" She was speaking carefully, giving no details, but her face was ashen. "It's crashing." She handed Mayhew a piece of paper. "These are the coordinates of the breakdown. Should I tell Councilor Garth?"

Mayhew was already setting his omni. "Yes. Immediately." She turned and ran down the hall.

Bogg stood. "Oliver, what's wrong? Can I help?" Mayhew avoided his gaze. Then Bogg knew. "Jeffrey." He could feel the blood draining from his face. "Oliver..." The soldier finally looked up, his mouth set in a hard line. "You have to take me with you."

"I'm sorry, Phineas, but not with that leg. I can't jeopardize your safety." Mayhew's face was bleak. "Please understand. I **am** sorry." He returned his attention to the device in his hand.

"No, Oliver," Bogg murmured, "**I'm** sorry." He curled his right hand into a fist and crashed it into Mayhew's jaw, knocking the younger man to the floor in a dazed heap. "He's my kid. He's my responsibility." He dropped the cane and reached for the silver omni, activating it as soon as it was in his grasp.

He landed in a large, empty room, leaning as far to the left as he could to protect his still-healing leg. The smell of paint filled his nostrils, making his eyes water. "Jeff, where are you?" he called. He thought he heard a tearing sound and a groan from a room off the hallway in front of him. Ignoring the pain in his leg, he ran in the direction of the noise, his heart almost stopping when he saw the source. Jeff was leaning too far out the window of the skyscraper, the strap from a bag full of books wrapped around his ankle the only thing keeping him anchored. "Don't move!" Bogg yelled and started toward him.

The strap ripped.

His counterbalance gone, Jeff's legs slid through the window. Bogg moved instinctively. Without thinking, he dove out the window after Jeff, grabbing for and somehow reaching one of his feet. He fumbled for Mayhew's omni, but before he could activate it, it made a strange buzzing sound, and they were flying through the cosmos. Bogg had never been so happy to be recalled.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

From the moment he realized he was falling, Jeff could only think one thing. _I'm going to die. I'm going to die!_ He thought he heard someone call his name but knew no one would be looking for him so soon. Panic set in even harder as he felt the strap giving way. He heard a voice call out to him, telling him not to move, but it was too late. The strap no longer held his weight. He closed his eyes as he fell, too terrified to cry out. He felt something clutch at his foot. Then the fall slowed and changed. Within seconds, he landed hard, but alive, on a cold surface.

Hands grabbed him by the shoulders. "Jeff? It's all right. I got you. You're safe." The floor was shaking. An earthquake? No, it wasn't the floor shaking; he was shaking, great tremors spilling through his entire body. Shaking and breathing hard, he opened his eyes. Concerned blue eyes stared back at him. "Say something. Are you hurt?" The voice trembled with fear. "I wasn't sure I could..." Strong arms wrapped him in a fierce hug. "I thought I was too late."

Jeff looked up into his rescuer's face. Blue eyes. Strong arms. Protection and concern. "Bogg?" he whispered.

The man's whole face lit up. "Yeah, kid. I'm here. I've got you." For the first time in months, Jeff felt like himself. He gave Bogg a watery smile. "Thank you," he whispered. Then a sharp pain exploded somewhere in his head, and he fainted.


	9. Returning

Bogg sat by Jeffrey's bedside, worrying and waiting. One of the medical team members had been in to start Jeff on an IV and update him on Jeff's condition, in the process throwing around enough medical terminology to make Bogg's head spin. He made out the phrases 'cerebral cortex', 'brain stem', and 'almost certain it wasn't a stroke' before holding his hands up in protest. "Doc, you lost me," he said. "Translate the important parts into English. Use small words."

The doctor took a deep breath. "Voyager Jones needs to wake up. Soon. He's dehydrated, and his scans are inconclusive. We won't know anything definite until he regains consciousness. Reversal of a memory wipe is rare, and to be truthful, we've never before had a case where the memory has returned on its own. We don't know what to expect. We need to talk to him."

Bogg had not found this helpful.

For a while Susan had stayed with him, holding his hand and providing silent comfort. She left only when her presence was demanded by the tribunal. Bogg assumed the council was meeting to decide the punishment for his code infractions and knew she would do a better job defending him than he could himself. He also knew that if anyone tried to remove him from Jeffrey's room for any reason, more infractions would follow. He'd gotten his kid back; now he needed reassurance Jeff would be all right. As he sat watching the blankets rise and fall with each of Jeffrey's breaths, other times when Jeff's life had been in danger while he had to sit by, helpless, replayed through his mind – waiting in France to see if the rabies serum would work, watching from the hospital doorway in Denver when Jeff collapsed from Spanish Flu. He grabbed his crutches and stood, hoping pacing might help the time move faster.

The door creaked open. "What happened to the cane?" The sudden noise broke the silence and startled him, causing him to nearly overbalance. He caught himself at the last second, forced himself upright and turned to look at the speaker. From the accent, he knew it was Oliver Mayhew. "It reopened when I..." He stopped. "The wound reopened." Bogg looked down at the floor. "Look, Oli... Voyager Mayhew..."

Mayhew walked into the room. "I've been assigned to Jeffrey's case. Has there been any change in his condition?" Bogg shook his head, still keeping his eyes down. "Phineas, this would be easier if you'd look at me. It'll not be easy carrying on a conversation with the top of your head."

Bogg looked up, eyes raking across the bruise covering Mayhew's jaw. "You're still talking to me?" Guilt flooded his voice. "I hit you."

"Yes," Mayhew agreed pleasantly, "and you took my omni. Let's not forget that."

Bogg stared at him. "I don't understand," he said slowly. "Aren't you angry?"

Mayhew's expression grew exasperated. "Of course I'm angry, you prat." He expelled a breath with a loud sound. "If you'd hit me square in the face instead of in the jaw, I could have bloody well gotten my nose straightened out. Now all I have is this great, stupid blotch on my chin. Makes me look a right fool." He paused, amusement making his gray eyes twinkle. "Look, Phineas, if you wanted to make me hate you, you would've needed to hit me harder. **Much** harder." He walked over to his friend, laying a hand on Bogg's shoulder. "I watched the memory log," he said, his voice growing softer and more serious. "Phin, you brought him back. I couldn't have done it." He paused, shaking his head in wonder. "You jumped out the window of a **skyscraper**. Never mind your leg, I'm amazed you didn't break your neck."

"Jumping out that window after him's getting to be a habit." Bogg barked a laugh then took a shaky breath. "I couldn't let anything happen to him." A rustling sound from the bed drew the attention of both men. Bogg dropped the crutches and sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing Jeffrey's hand.

"Bogg?" Jeff whispered. His eyes opened slowly, and he shifted, trying to sit.

"I'm right here, kid. How do you feel? Are you all right?" Mayhew pushed a glass of water into Bogg's hand, and he helped Jeff drink.

Jeff nodded, then drained the glass. He looked around, his dark eyes taking in the hospital setting. Bogg could hear Jeff's breathing quicken and see his cheeks turn pale. "I didn't dream it," he murmured. "I fell out the window, and you... You saved me."

"Shhh, Jeff. It's okay." Bogg put his hands on Jeff's shoulders. "The important thing is that you're here, that you're safe."

"Voyager Jones, do you know where you are?" Mayhew asked in a calm voice.

Jeff's eyes darted to the soldier. "Who are you?" He clutched at Bogg's arm. "Bogg?"

"He's a friend, kid." Bogg said, hoping to reassure Jeff. "Voyager Oliver Mayhew. It's okay. You're safe. Oliver needs to ask you some questions."

Jeff turned his gaze to Mayhew. "Headquarters?" he answered. At Bogg's nod, he visibly relaxed.

Mayhew continued. "And do you remember the last time you were here?" Jeff's eyes went blank for a moment as his mind worked backwards, then with a sharp intake of breath he looked up at Bogg, uncertainty showing plainly on his face. His expression grew stricken. "I left. I left you. And you still..."

"I'll take that as an affirmative response," Mayhew said gently. "We've established already that you remember how you got back here, so I'll spare you that question." He looked at the teenager, compassion in his eyes. "Jeffrey, do you know how old you are?"

"Sixteen. We had cake." Jeff's response was prompt. He put up the hand with the IV needle to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "Is there any aspirin around here? I've got a really bad headache."

Bogg turned to Mayhew. His eyes showed alarm, but he managed to keep his voice calm. "Oliver, is that normal?"

Mayhew pulled a face. "You won't like this answer, Phin, but I have absolutely no idea whatsoever. Voyager Jones here is a bit of a special case." He turned to Jeffrey. "You may be having a physical reaction due to the unintended disruption of the memory procedure."

Jeff opened his eyes and looked from Mayhew to Bogg and back again. "They don't know if something's wrong? How can they not know?" Bogg shrugged. "Don't you think you should have someone researching the aftereffects of this..."

"Is this normal behavior for him?" Mayhew interrupted in an exasperated tone.

"Pretty much," Bogg replied, a relieved smile forming on his lips. "He likes to know what's going on. And be involved in it. As much as possible."

Mayhew dropped his head to his hands. "Bloody hell," he muttered from between his fingers. "I had to get assigned **both** of you." He lifted his head back up and looked Jeffrey square in the face. "All right then, here's what I know. I'll warn you when we move into the realm of theory. Once we get through the explanations we'll find you a headache powder." He straightened his shoulders. "Your memory block seems to have dissolved itself." He paused dramatically. "Now onto the theory."

"Wait, that's all you know for sure?" Jeff spluttered.

"Do you want to hear the theory or not?" Mayhew asked, sounding affronted. Bogg stifled a snort by pretending to cough. This was the Jeffrey he knew. Mayhew tugged at his shirt, smoothing out some imaginary wrinkles. "If I had to conjecture, I'd say once you left you realized leaving wasn't the choice you really wanted." Jeff's head drooped. "As an adolescent, the pathways in your brain are not completely formed as of yet, and once your subconscious mind realized you didn't want to be with your aunt, your memories rerouted themselves so you could find what you had lost. Now that's all I know, or think I know. Any more questions?"

Jeff jerked his head up and looked up at Bogg, realization suddenly flooding face. "What's going to happen to the time stream I just left?" His breathing suddenly accelerated and his eyes widened as the ramifications of how he had left hit him. "Aunt Elizabeth and Detective Flannery! They're going to think I... Bogg, I can't do that to them!" He started shaking and tried to climb out of bed.

Bogg held him still, forcing him to lie back down. "Jeff, no! You need to stay here so the docs can check you out and make sure everything's okay." He wrapped his arms around the struggling boy. "Oliver, help me."

The door opened again, and the doctor entered, a concerned look on his face. "His readings are off the charts. What's going on?"

"A small amount of distress and confusion," Mayhew snapped. "He'll be fine in a moment."

The doctor moved swiftly to the IV bag, injecting a clear liquid into it. "Yes, he will," he said. "Until we've had a chance to check him over thoroughly, we need to keep his heart rate down."

Bogg stood, holding the side of the bed for support. "What did you just do to my kid?" His voice was quiet but dangerous.

The doctor took a step back. "It's a mild sedative, Voyager Bogg. Until we're positive he isn't going to collapse again, he needs to stay calm."

"My dear doctor, I'm going to suggest asking the boy's guardian first would have been a better course of action," Mayhew said, "especially as you wouldn't be the first person today to get in the way of his protecting Voyager Jones." He indicated the bruise on his jawline. The doctor paled and mumbled an apology as he backed towards the door. "Quite. We'll let you know if his condition changes." Then Mayhew turned back to Bogg and Jeffrey.

Within seconds of the sedative entering Jeff's bloodstream, his muscles relaxed, his breathing slowed, and his eyes took on a glazed look. Bogg shot a look of alarm at Mayhew who stood watching Jeffrey intently.

Jeff blinked a few times, trying to focus his eyes. "Is he sure that was a **mild** sedative?" he said to Mayhew. "I feel kind of..." he yawned, "fuzzy."

"You've been through a lot today, kid. You could probably use some rest," Bogg said. "Is there anything else you need to know right now?"

"Yeah," Jeff said slowly. "Were you really going to hit him?"

"The thought did cross my mind," Bogg admitted.

"Don't worry, Voyager Jones," Mayhew interjected. "I'll be here to protect you from any excess of violence caused by this recreant Voyager."

Bogg turned to Jeff looking mildly offended. "What did he just call me?" Jeff snickered, and Bogg noted with relief that the boy seemed to be truly entertained by this comment. "If that's as insulting as it sounded, Oliver, I may have to deck you again."

Jeff cocked his head to the side. "Is that why your jaw looks like that?" He turned back to Bogg, blinking a few more times before speaking. "Was it a fair fight?"

Mayhew snorted. "Hardly. He knocked me down and stole my omni."

"There were extenuating circumstances," Bogg said. "Not that we need to go into them right now." He glared at Mayhew, who was barely stifling a grin. "Any other questions?"

"Just one," Jeff said. He yawned and turned back to Mayhew. "What happened to your nose?" he asked. Bogg chuckled, not bothering to hide the sound.

Mayhew put his face back in his hands. "Like father, like son," he muttered. "You two are going to drive me to drink."

"I feel really..." Jeff yawned a third time, "sleepy." He turned his face to Bogg. "You know, Bogg, if you were going to hit him anyway..." he yawned again, longer this time, "you should've whacked his nose. Then he could've had it straightened..." His eyes closed, and his head drooped to the side. A small snore escaped from his mouth.

Bogg settled back down in the bedside chair and looked up at Mayhew. "Oliver, he'll be all right, won't he?" He couldn't stop the worry from seeping into his voice.

Mayhew looked at the sleeping teenager. "Well, the memory block does appear to have been broken, but Phin, if that reaction regarding his aunt is any indication of what we're dealing with, we've got a job ahead of us before he'll be cleared for fieldwork again. We'll need to get information about the direction that time line takes to see if we can head off the guilt complex he seems to be building for himself. Also, he'll need to talk. To both of us."

"So what he needs is time?" Bogg asked.

"I think so. Ironic, that, isn't it?" Mayhew replied. "Time and support. Of course, given that leg and your code infractions you've got time, don't you?" He turned to go. As he put his hand on the door handle, he turned around one last time. "He came back to you, Phin. He'll come out fine."


	10. Closure

Jeff sat outside the courtroom wondering how long Bogg's disciplinary hearing would go on. He had wanted to be with Bogg and Susan, but Bogg had insisted he keep his regularly scheduled appointment with Voyager Mayhew instead. "You've seen this before, kid," Bogg had said. "They'll throw around a bunch of legal terms, then argue about a decision. After a couple of hours in there, banishment on a desert island might start looking good." At Jeff's startled glance, Bogg smiled gently. "I'm kidding. It was a joke. Look, Oliver's going to wonder where you are and blame me if you're late, so get moving. I'll see you in a bit."

In the end Jeff's appointment was cut short anyway when the counselor was summoned by the council to give testimony. Jeff followed Mayhew down the twisting corridors and took a seat on one of the benches to wait. Since being released from Medical, Jeff had spent a good part of each morning talking with Mayhew. He could tell it was helping; he felt more in control of his emotions than he had in a long time. The counselor's questions made him sit back and consider his reactions to his last mission and and think about why he had chosen to leave even though he had known it wasn't what he really wanted.

"Adolescents need separation and independence, Jeffrey," Mayhew had told him. "You're in a more difficult position than most. As a Voyager-elect, you have a job to do; you can't just go wandering off on your own. You don't really have the freedom to make mistakes and learn from them. If I had to guess, I'd say this is what you were reacting to when you made your choice. The tricky bit for you going forward will be finding a balance; working on gaining independence while maintaining what you currently have." A beat. "If that's what you want." Mayhew tilted his head to the side. "You know, Jeffrey, you're getting of age to attend the academy. It may not be something you're ready to think about right now, but that could fill both needs. It's something you and Phineas should talk about."

"You're right," Jeff had quickly agreed, "I'm not ready. I still... I don't know. I still feel like I should have done something different. Like I shouldn't have quit. All I did was hurt people." He stood and started pacing. "Bogg tried to work himself to death, and I don't want to think about what happened to Detective Flannery. Even Aunt Elizabeth must be going crazy. I know she didn't want me around, but still..."

Lost in the memory of the discussion, Jeff didn't notice when the courtroom doors finally opened, and Bogg limped out. Bogg waited for a moment, then put out a hand and tapped Jeff's shoulder. "Kid, you all right?"

Jeff started, looking up with wide eyes. "Huh? Sorry. What's the verdict?"

Bogg shrugged. "They decided to recess until tomorrow. Oliver said I'd find you out here." He examined Jeffrey's face. "You didn't answer my question. Are you all right?"

Jeff nodded. "Just thinking." He let out a noisy breath. "Bogg," he finally said, "I'm really sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything," Jeff answered. "For causing so much trouble on our last voyage. For hitting you. For leaving. For causing you to get hurt. Just everything."

Bogg eased himself onto the bench. "You have nothing to apologize for," he said. "Well, okay, the elbow in the stomach I'll give you, but you took care of that one already. This?" he gestured to his leg. "You didn't cause this," he said. "I did."

"But if I hadn't left..." Jeff started.

"There still would have been shrapnel exploding at Louisburg," Bogg said firmly. "I just would've had to worry about you getting hit, too." He looked Jeff directly in the eyes. "Look, Jeff, I got injured through my own recklessness. You had nothing to do with it." He put an arm around Jeff's shoulders. "What's really bothering you?"

"Bogg, I made a mess of everything." Jeff sighed. "I was selfish and stupid, and it feels like everyone else is having to pay for my mistakes."

"Everyone?" Bogg asked.

"You, Detective Flannery, Aunt Elizabeth." Jeff shook his head. "Even Oliver got hurt, and no matter what you say, I feel responsible."

Bogg thought for a moment. "Would it help if we could find out what happened back there?"

Jeff nodded. "I think so. At least then I'd know. Right now, my imagination's running wild, and it's all bad."

"Then let's go see how we do that," Bogg said, standing up. "I didn't have anything else planned for today."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Kevin Flannery cautiously approached the bar in search of a cup of strong, black coffee. The noise coming from the table behind him let him know the others hadn't missed him. Yet. He fervently hoped they wouldn't realize he was gone as he was pretty sure he'd had more than enough to drink at this point. This was driven home when he misjudged the distance between his right hand and the edge of the bar and crashed into the two men sitting there talking.

"Hey there, mister," the blond one said, "I'd say you've had enough for one night. Maybe more than one night."

Flannery stammered out what he hoped was a coherent apology. "Just need some coffee," he muttered, "then I'll be right as rain."

"No, my friend," said the other man. He had darker hair, a pronounced British accent, and a lighter air than his companion. "Then you'll be caffeinated **and **inebriated. What you need is a tall glass of water. If you don't get some of that out of your system, you'll be in danger of being harrassed by a member of the local constabulary on your way home." He called to a passing bartender and requested three glasses of water.

Flannery looked at the glass and waved a hand airily in front of him. "Nah. 'S okay. I **am** the local confabu... constab... I'm a police detective."

The dark haired man's eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure I find that terribly reassuring," he said, looking at his associate. He then turned back to Flannery. "Is this how you celebrate the completion of every shift, Detective?"

"Bachelor party," Flannery explained, laughing and gesturing to the noisy table behind them. "I'm getting married on Monday."

"Monday," the Brit repeated, puzzled. "Not very romantic."

"My fiancée's nothing if not practical." Flannery smiled ruefully. "City Hall wedding at eleven, lunch, then back to work. She's good at tangibles." He smiled, remembering the last time he had used that word regarding her.

"Have you known her for long?" the blond man asked. Flannery eyed him speculatively. He seemed more subdued than the British guy, and for a moment Flannery wondered why the guy was even in a bar. Then he shook his head, figuring the alcohol was messing with his brain, and concentrated on the question.

"Funny story, that," he answered. "Funny, ironic, I mean. I met her on a case about five years ago. She came off as self-involved, kinda cold. I didn't think it mattered; I was never gonna see her again. Except I did." He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper, forcing the two men to move closer to him. "You've heard of the Jones case?"

The dark-haired man whistled and said, "The one where the missing boy reappeared then ran off a few months later? Messy business, that."

Flannery nodded feelingly. "I was the lead investigator. I was the last one to see him for any length of time. Got dragged over the coals for letting him walk off with evidence, then losing him." He took a drink of his water. "Newspapers, Internal Affairs investigation, the whole nine yards. The worst part, though? I felt like I let the kid down. He needed help, and I completely missed it." He shuddered, reliving the feeling of that time in his head.

The blond man looked up. "I'm sure he knew you tried."

Flannery continued, not having heard the comment. "Day of my hearing, in she walks, demanding to see my captain, wanting to testify on my behalf. Said she didn't blame me for him running away, and even had letters from the school counselor and his psychiatrist about his mental state." He shook his head. "I couldn't believe it."

"She." The blond man stared at him in disbelief. "You mean his aunt? You're kidding."

"After the hearing, I asked her out for coffee. I hadn't been all that cordial to her in the past, and I wanted to thank her," Flannery said. "She told me she'd been terrified when Jeffrey ended up with her the first time. He was traumatized from losing his parents, and she couldn't deal with his emotions. The second time was worse. For both of them. He had no memory of where he'd been or what happened to him, and she didn't know what he needed. We **both** failed him." He took a deep breath, his eyes lost in the memory. "It was like group therapy. We took turns blaming ourselves for not doing... something, anything and then trying to reassure the other they'd done all they could. She completely fell apart. I'd never seen her so emotional. Or emotional at all – she's a real stoic. I didn't know what to do, so I hugged her. The next thing I know, we're kissing." He leaned back against the bar and laughed softly. "And now, here I am getting drunk in a bar I've never been to before, telling my life story to a pair of strangers, and what I really want is to be home with her."

The blond man raised his glass, his hand shaking slightly. "You see kids in your future, Detective?" He took a sip and slowly put the glass back on the bar.

"Not really," Flannery said. "We're both pretty tied to our careers, and frankly, Liz really isn't good with kids. My nieces and nephews can attest to that." He chuckled. "Kids aren't logical enough for her. Maybe someday. Right now, I'm working up to a nice, aloof cat."

"I never thought they were for me, either," the blond man said, with a wry smile. "Now..." He shrugged his shoulders. "I thought I lost mine for a while. I didn't do so good without him." He raised his glass as if he were making a toast. "Congratulations. I hope you'll both be very happy."

"And good luck with the cat," the dark-haired man added. "Lovely animals, cats."

"Hey, Kev!" someone called from across the room. "Abandoning us already? It's too early!"

"Go soak your head, Murphy!" Flannery turned toward the voice. "I'm just saying good-bye to my new friends here. Then I'm heading home. I'm done," he yelled back.

"You've had too much to drink, Detective," another voice called out. "What friends?"

Flannery turned back towards the bar. The stools next to him were empty.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jeff sat open-mouthed in Susan's office. "They got married?" he said for the third time. Bogg nodded. "To each other?" Bogg nodded again. "You're not just saying this to make me feel better, are you?"

Bogg shook his head, an odd expression on his face. "Does it help?" he asked, the deep voice quieter than usual, "Knowing?"

Jeff thought for a moment. "Yeah," he said, certainty in his voice, "it does." The tight knot residing in his chest since his return loosened, allowing him to breathe fully for the first time. His deepest fear, unacknowledged even to Bogg, was that he had damaged the time line so badly it could only be repaired by sending him back to 1986. Now he knew for sure that things would be all right. He smiled at Bogg, noticing for the first time the pirate's eyes were troubled. "Bogg?" he said tentatively, reaching a hand out to his guardian. "Thank you." He let his hand fall back down by his side. "That can't have been easy for you. I want you to know how much I appreciate it, especially after all I put you through."

Bogg sat heavily in the chair next to Jeff. "It was strange, hearing that detective talk about your aunt that way. I've gotten used to thinking of her as some kind of ogre. It never occurred to me she actually had emotions, that she may have felt badly about how she treated you, that she just couldn't cope. I always felt she deserved whatever she got." He sighed. "Now I just feel sorry for her."

"Sorry for her?" Jeff asked. "How come?"

"She missed out on knowing you," Bogg replied simply. "That was the hardest part of your leaving, knowing you wouldn't remember me. At least I **knew** you; I had those memories. She couldn't allow herself to get that close to you. She'll never know what she missed."

Jeff gulped. "You're wrong," he said through the lump forming in his throat. "I did remember you. I forgot everything else, but I remembered you."

The door flew open, making Jeff jump in his seat. He hastily wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and smiled when he saw Bogg mirror his movements. Susan walked in holding a rolled-up piece of parchment in her hand. She looked apprehensively at Bogg.

"Are you all right, Phineas?" she asked him. "You look..."

"Something in my eye," he responded. He gestured to the paper. "Is that my punishment?"

She nodded. "You're lucky Mayhew testified on your behalf," she said, "although it was a little strange having him as a witness for both the defense and prosecution."

"I thought it was just a disciplinary hearing," Jeff protested, "not a trial."

Susan smiled. "Old habits die hard," she said, "and legal jargon." She unrolled the paper. "Anyway, do you want to hear the council's decision? Or do you want to argue semantics? I'm happy to do either."

"Am I to be keel-hauled, then?" Bogg asked.

Susan raised her eyebrows. "You might prefer that," she said. "You're being sent back to school."

"What?" Bogg spluttered. "Back to what?"

"School," Susan repeated. "You and Jeffrey have been assigned to a two-week refresher course in omni functionality and Code basics."

Jeff's eyes lit up. "Wait, you mean I get to learn stuff?"

Bogg groaned. "You learn 'stuff' with me all the time." He turned to Susan. "Two weeks in a classroom?"

"Consider yourself fortunate it wasn't more, Phineas," Susan told him. "Councilor Garth was arguing for a month. I think Voyager Mayhew convinced him that keeping you here too much longer might result in more 'infractions' and mean losing one of our best field workers." She smiled. "Come on, we need to go get you enrolled. The sooner you complete the course, the sooner you get back in the field." She turned back towards the door.

Jeff jumped up from his chair. "You mean I'll get to learn how to do maintenance and recalibration? This is great!" He followed Susan as she left the office. "Come on, Bogg!"

"Smart kids give me a pain," Bogg muttered. Then he shook his head, stood, and followed his kid out of the office.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Story notes:

The idea for this story literally woke me up at three in the morning as I was writing the last chapter of _Green Means Go_. I knew Jeffrey was going to choose to stay with Bogg in that story, but I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he chose to quit. Then the lines from N2N stuck in my head, and that was that.

Chapter 2: Thanks to Bookworm41 for sending me to my neighbor the firefighter/EMT for additional information on how they fight car fires. Be very glad I didn't take her advice on the injuries Jeffrey could have sustained. She waxed eloquently on the mistakes police officers can make getting accident victims out of cars instead of waiting for her to do her job. Ick. Oh, and Route 22 really is a small highway that goes through Carmel.

Chapter 3: The Library Director in Carmel, NY was extremely helpful in giving me the 1986 name of the local hospital.

Chapter 5: The Fortress at Louisbourg became Bogg's destination as I had been rereading one of my professor's novels while writing this story. If you haven't read it, _Another Shore_ by Nancy Bond is a lyrical and haunting time travel story with extensive historical research.

Chapter 7: It is a sad but true fact that there aren't enough psychiatrists that treat children. The two month wait Jeff had to see Dr. Langford would be considered short in some places.

Thank you to all who read and to all who reviewed! The next story is being plotted out. Now I just need to find a way to drag Mayhew from this alternate universe to the regular universe.

– Lisa


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